


early morning

by tameable



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tenderness, and also they fuck but thats obvious, im soft & theyre married n thats abt it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28545627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tameable/pseuds/tameable
Summary: Prowl wakes up early with a problem between his legs. Jazz is there to help.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl (Transformers)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 81





	early morning

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in my drafts for a while & now here it is. fair warning: a good chunk of this was written while battling painkiller-induced sleepiness post wisdom tooth surgery, but i tried my best to make it seem cohesive nonetheless (even if it is just porn lmao) so! theyre in lov and i hope yall enjoy!!

Prowl onlines with a tired sigh. His frame runs hot, fans loud in the quiet dark. System checks pop up along the edge of his HUD. He doesn’t need it to confirm that his interface array has decided to act up.

There’s a trickle of lubricant between his thighs when he shifts, grimacing at the feeling. What a pain to clean up later. Attending to the matter at its root takes precedence.

Prowl reaches out a servo, feeling along the other side of the berth. He slips his digits into the warm palm he finds there. Jazz groans as he onlines, squeezing Prowl’s servo.

“Mm, yeah, sweetspark?” His vocalizer is staticky with recharge.

Rather than say anything, Prowl guides his servo to his pelvic array. Jazz obligingly palms the heated metal and hums with understanding, moving closer. They press side to side.

“Spread a bit for me, Prowler,” Jazz orders casually. Prowl does. “What’s gotcha so worked up at this joor?”

“Recharge flux.” He gasps as Jazz wastes no time slicking his digits with lubricant and sinks two into Prowl’s valve. “I do not remember specifics, unfortunately.” He bites his lip and lets his helm fall back. His hips start to roll with the press of Jazz’s digits.

Jazz laughs, still tinged with grogginess. “Yeah? Let’s get specific, then. Is it something about my mouth?” His lips curve into a smirk as he adds a digit to the two already in Prowl’s valve. He spreads them, stretching the tight calipers, lubricant dripping down his wrist. “Or my servos? C’mon, Prowler, give me something to work with.”

Prowl’s optic ridge furrows as he pants. It makes for a pretty contrast against the pink of his cheeks.

“You mean give you an ego boost,” Prowl shoots back. He yelps as Jazz rolls his thumb over his swollen anterior node. His lover takes obvious relish in the way Prowl jerks his hips. 

“Aw, Prowler. A mech needs an ego boost every once in a while, don’t he?”

Prowl’s servo presses against Jazz’s, urging him deeper. Jazz trails a line of kisses along his bumper, trying to be slow and soothing. Prowl keens, engine growling louder instead.

“That’s it,” Prowl bites out, “My turn for an ego boost.”

He shifts, letting Jazz’s digits slip out. Jazz moves from his side to flat on his back, pinned under Prowl. A strong leg swings over his hips to straddle him. Prowl grins with smug satisfaction as he seats himself right above Jazz’s concealed spike.

“How do you feel now,  _ sweetspark? _ ”

Jazz giggles, his whole face crinkling with it. Prowl’s smugness falters. He wants to shy away, feeling like an intruder on Jazz’s sincere joy rather than the cause of it. 

“Feel like I’m the luckiest mech in the world, Prowl,” Jazz says, warm and too intimate. Prowl kisses him soundly. Despite their stellar cycles together, he’s still learning to be comfortable with the sincere side of their relationship. 

Jazz settles back, helm propped on one bent arm, his other occupied with tracing wet digits over Prowl’s hips. Jazz looks like the picture of relaxation, not like he’s watching his conjunx grow desperate in his lap.

The easy confidence makes Prowl’s engine rev. He slips a bit further down Jazz’s hips, straddling a thigh instead. Prowl sighs in pleasure as he finds a rhythm grinding against it. 

The languid rolls of his hips are met with an appreciative purr. “Just like that, sweetspark,” Jazz urges, pressing his thigh harder against Prowl’s wet valve. His free servo plucks at the wires in Prowl’s hips.

With great effort, Prowl slows his grind on Jazz’s thigh. He doesn’t want to overload too quickly.

“Jazz?” he asks, tapping on his lover’s array. 

His spike pressurizes with a low whine. Prowl readily wraps his servo around it, feeling the familiar ridges, watching intently as biolights appear and disappear in the dark of his palm. He takes a moment to dip his digits into his lubricant, then grips the spike again. Jazz groans and bucks into his fist at the new, slick pressure.

Prowl smirks. He pumps his servo a few times. He’s just this side of too tight, twisting his wrist on the head before sliding back down, all the way to the base. He watches Jazz’s reactions– studying them and savoring them in equal measure. The arm casually behind his helm comes down to grip Prowl’s hip. Urgency builds as Jazz starts praising him under his breath between groans for more. 

Prowl slides his servo down again, slower, mentally counting the inches, drawing his thumb down the underside of his spike as he does so. It twitches in his grip. Jazz pants even as his fans nearly drown out the sound.  _ Hm _ , Prowl thinks,  _ satisfactory _ . 

“Please, Prowler,” Jazz moans. Prowl moans with him, liking the desperation. “You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’m not killing you. I’m pleasuring you,” Prowl replies easily. “It’d be a waste to kill you. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” He runs his thumb over the mod at the base of Jazz’s spike as he says it. It’s a small protrusion, there to stimulate the anterior node during interface. Prowl bites his lip and grinds down a little harder. 

“Don’t wanna waste anything with you, Prowler,” Jazz says earnestly, so free with his declaration. 

Prowl blushes and resituates himself to straddle Jazz’s hips rather than his thigh. He rubs the lips of his valve indulgently along Jazz’s spike and savors the following groan. 

“More, Jazz?”

Jazz bucks up, chasing friction. “Yeah, baby, c’mon.”

The corners of Prowl’s mouth pull up, exposing sharp white dentae. He grabs Jazz’s servos, guiding them up past his warm abdominal plating. “Servos on my bumper, Jazz.”

“Yessir!” Jazz obliges and spreads his servos across the white and black plating. 

Prowl’s engine growls as Jazz lavishes attention on his headlights. He takes Jazz’s spike in servo once more, positioning himself over it. The pressure of the spike head against the rim of his valve makes anticipation pool hot in his array. Gears in his jaw grind as he holds off a premature overload. With a small gasp, Jazz’s spike sinks in. Prowl slowly seats himself fully in his lover’s lap, valve flexing as he grows accustomed to the stretch. 

“Frag, Prowler,” Jazz groans, cables taut. His servos squeeze and Prowl sighs, pushing his bumper into the touch, calipers relaxing. 

They take another moment to savor the position they’re in before their arousal becomes too much. 

Prowl breaks the stillness first by raising himself almost entirely off Jazz’s spike. He pants, grinning fully now. The clang of his aft meeting Jazz’s lap as he drops down on the spike splitting him open is loud, gratifying.

“Good?” Prowl asks, cocky above his conjunx. Jazz nods fervently. 

Prowl drops down again. And again, and again. Jazz groans and throws his helm back, doing his best to meet Prowl’s movements with his own, shoving his spike deep– almost enough to hit the gel seal against his gestation tank. 

Jazz, knowing Prowl gets off on the feeling of his lover’s spike hitting his seal even more than he does, gives one last grope to his bumper before grabbing his hips for leverage. Prowl places a servo over Jazz’s, squeezing gently. 

“Go on, take a little control,” Prowl pants. “Fill me up, make me feel good, lover.” And, well, Jazz can’t say no to that. 

He cries out as Jazz uses his new grip to pull Prow down  _ hard _ . Hard enough for Jazz to finally nudge against his seal, then just enough to pierce it with the next thrust. Prowl helps keep up the pace, still lifting himself enough to clang down as he takes Jazz’s spike over and over, little sobs falling from his vocalizer with each hard pull downward.

Prowl’s tight heat opens up around his length, the lips of his slick valve dragging against the ridges, and Jazz’s array tenses with impending overload.

“Jazz!” Prowl keens. He’ll never get enough of the feeling of being spread around his lover’s spike, sharing pleasure as he’s opened up and fragged with enthusiasm. Jazz drags him in for a particularly deep thrust and his doorwings shiver with it.

They slow as they grow closer to overload, unable to keep the flashfire pace. Jazz rocks firmly up, grinding that lovely spike mod against Prowl’s anterior node. Lubricant smears between them, fresh pulses of it with every grind. Jazz loves the slick feeling, loves knowing he can cause such a reaction from the usually stoic tactician, and grinds just that bit harder, close to finishing. Prowl holds himself stiff, teetering on the edge himself.

Prowl leans forward, one servo still with Jazz’s on his hip, the other now braced above Jazz’s helm. Like this, Jazz can leave kisses across his ample bumper as it’s pressed into his face. He urges Prowl to lean a bit more, wanting to be smothered in it. 

Prowl twitches and sobs as overload hits him, doorwings flapping and valve clenching hard around the hot, unrelenting length of Jazz inside him. Jazz continues to grind up against him as he rides out his overload, prolonging the pleasure. 

They lay still for a moment while Prowl recovers. He shifts after a moment, flexing the calipers around the spike still buried in him, savoring the rumble of Jazz’s engine.

Prowl, fans on high as he cools himself, nudges Jazz to spur him to action. Jazz takes the hint and works himself up quickly, thrusting barely a handful of times before he’s overloading as well, spilling hot transfluid deep into Prowl’s gestation tank. Some coats the inside of his valve, dripping down his thighs as Prowl lifts himself tenderly to let Jazz’s spike slide out.

Prowl swings himself off Jazz’s lap and lays down next to him. He trembles, heated all over, though not ready for another overload. Jazz lays limply on his back by his side and lets his fans whirr.

Their servos find each other in the dark. They spend several quiet kliks like that, content to be together, side by side.

Eventually, Jazz gets up, but only to grab a spare rag dampened with solvent. He’s gentle as he cleans between Prowl’s thighs, making sure to get any pesky paint transfers.

Prowl takes the rag and returns the favor. He kisses Jazz as he works, on the lips, his cheeks, his neck, his bumper. He pays special attention to Jazz’s servos, kissing the tip of each digit as he goes. 

Jazz nuzzles close when Prowl deems him clean and melts into the crook of his neck. Prowl cradles his helm there as they contentedly wait for their morning shifts to start.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @barbieprime if you want :o)


End file.
